No Visitors After Midnight
by MizuTattoo
Summary: Prequel to 'Ear Pressed Against the Door.' Sam said that Dean was the first one to leave. What happened? WINCEST!


_A/N – Here's the sequel/prequel to _Ear Pressed Against the Door. _No sex – not this time – but don't worry, I feel I will return to this particular universe very soon. Shit just won't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy, and expect another foray (hopefully with some graphic smut!) probably within the next couple days. That's not to say there won't be any angtsy, PG-13 installments. But for now it's all about the nookie _;)_ Of course I don't own Supernatural. _

No Visitors After Midnight

Sam is awake and alert as soon as his door opens.

His hand is already under his pillow, gripping the gun he keeps stashed there, before he realizes who it is. He sighs, relaxing his hold, and tries to feign sleeping. Maybe the intruder will accept the fact that Sam is _supposed_ to be sleeping, damnit, and needs at least some rest before his test tomorrow. This is definitely not the time for yet another two a.m. poker game.

"Sam?"

Sam fakes a soft snore, hoping his uninvited guest will get the hint.

"Dude, I know you're awake. Little bitch."

_Fuck._

"Jerk," Sam shoots back automatically, and gives up all pretense of slumber to sit up and face his brother.

Dean is plastered, that much is obvious. He always is when he sneaks into Sam's room at unholy hours, wanting to do something, play a game, go for a run – whatever his drunken mind has decided is the _most fun thing ever_ to do at that moment. The last time Dean pulled this stunt, they ended up driving an hour to play pool at a 24/7 hall. And by they, Sam means _him_. _He_ ended up driving an hour. Then back, of course, with a drooling Dean collapsed against him the whole time.

At least Sam won the games they played. That was a nice little bonus. To commemorate the occasion, he swiped the eight ball as a souvenir. Smart move – he hasn't beaten his brother since then. Sam likes keeping it as proof, whipping it out whenever Dean gets too smug.

So, yeah, okay, these little excursions aren't all _that bad_, but Sam is still just a tiny bit pissed. Dean knows he has to take the SAT tomorrow, and missing sleep so he can entertain his drunk brother is not the best way to prepare for a three hour test.

This means the huff of annoyance Sam lets out is more than justified. He watches, irritated, as Dean clumsily rotates to shut the door, then turns the lock. Exasperation quickly morphs into amusement, however, when Dean brings his index finger to his mouth and shushes the door.

_Pathetic_, he thinks, and smiles.

Since Dean is barricading them in his room, the plans for tonight (this _morning_, actually, he amends himself with another brief flash of frustration) can't be too adventurous. He probably has a pack of cards stashed in his jacket or a couple of beers. Wanting to have a little powwow with his younger brother. Considering the tame activities Dean has in mind, Sam can afford to indulge him. They'll play a few hands, or drink a few beers, have some chitchat, and Dean will probably pass out before four.

Probably.

But Sam should have known to expect the unexpected from Dean by now. He turns to face Sam, and without any light his brother appears almost sinister. Shadow obscures his features, and there is only blackness where his eyes should be. Sam fails to suppress a shudder, and feels guilty for no reason at all.

Then Dean is yelling 'Geronimo!' and leaping onto Sam's bed – onto _Sam_ – and all weird thoughts are shoved out of his head. This is Dean, this is his _brother_, and there is no cause at all for how nervous he suddenly was. Is.

Dean is fucking heavy, though, and the air rushes from his lungs as the entirety of his brother's weight slams onto him.

Sam tries to grumble a 'Get the _fuck_ off, man!' but all that comes out is, "Nnggh."

"You're always such a little _bitch_, Sammy," Dean says, and Sam shouldn't be hurt by that statement, but he is. It came out sounding wrong, twisted from alcohol or exhaustion or whatever the hell Dean has been up to since he left at nine earlier.

Sam struggles under his brother, pissed off all over again. Dean can just go be an ass somewhere else, fuck you very much.

But Dean isn't budging, and somehow Sam's recent height advantage is not helping him in the least bit. He tries to use his shoulder to push Dean off, but he simply moves to the side and uses his body to anchor Sam from the chest down.

"You know, Dean, this is just so fucking cute, but you need to get the hell off. I've got to get some sleep, man, and you're drunk. So just get. The. Fuck. Off!"

At the last word, Sam strains forward and manages to lift Dean off. For a split second he can breathe again, feels triumphant, before Dean slams back down and hooks their legs together so Sam is doubly immobilized.

Above him, Dean is laughing, and it enrages him for all of a second before he's laughing, too. So, sure, Dean's been acting weird, but now Sam knows his big brother was just messing with him. Guy was a jerk and all, but he did know how to shake things up.

Now if he could just limit the activities to the daytime hours, everything would be just peachy.

"You're so easy, Sam," Dean snorts, and the pressure of his body eases, but doesn't completely disappear. Sam props himself on his elbows, his superior length causing the junction between his neck and collarbone to line up with Dean's head.

When his brother suddenly surges forward and bites down, hard, Sam freezes.

_What the hell?_

Sam's brain, his whole body, seems to shut down.

And Dean doesn't stop.

He starts running his tongue over the jutting bone, then closes his mouth over the flesh and bites again. Sam shudders, but the flash of pain brings him back to himself.

"Dean! Jesus, dude!"

He leans up, angry, trying to dislodge his brother. Instead, Dean growls and with surprising force slams Sam back down.

Panic sets his heart racing, and everywhere Dean is pressed against him feels supercharged and sensitive. He's terrified now, can no longer convince himself Dean is just being his usual dick self.

Sam remembers the way his brother looked standing in the door, his empty eyes.

"Christo," he tries, shame flooding him when his voice trembles just a little bit.

When Dean stops, Sam thinks he's finally figured this situation out. He's still horrified as fuck – there's a damn _demon_ riding around his brother's body like it's a rental car – but he somehow feels relieved.

Until Dean leans over, staring straight at Sam with his green eyes.

The intensity of that gaze mesmerizes him, causes his whole fucking world to stop. That's _Dean_ looking at him, _Dean _drinking in his face like it's a damned sunrise.

"Dean," he finally manages weakly, and licks his lips, "you're drunk, man."

Sam really wishes his voice wasn't so soft. He sounds like a scared kid, and more shame fills him.

"You know, Sam," Dean rasps, dropping his head to nuzzle at Sam's neck again (which leaves Sam's gaze free again, thank _god_. That look seemed to burn right through him), "I saw you."

Sam is confused for just a moment before realization sinks in.

It was over a year ago. Twelve towns, six states, and four schools ago.

Dean had brought a girl back. Sam was supposed to be in his room, he _knew_ that, but he was also thirsty and it wasn't fair that he had to stay cooped up just because Dean wanted to score. He was just going to go to the kitchen for a quick glass of water, a speedy there-and-back before Dean and his girl of the hour could spot him.

What happened instead is Sam ended up standing at the entrance to the living room, eyes transfixed on Dean and his date. Having sex.

He couldn't see much of the girl. Dean seemed to obscure everything else, sweat running down his back as his hips snapped forward. Sam's mouth had gone dry and no matter how much his brain screamed at him to _fucking look away, damnit! _he just couldn't.

Then Dean tilted his head back and locked eyes with his brother.

Terrified, Sam had scuttled back to his room. He had kept expecting some remark from Dean, some teasing, but it never came. Sam always wondered why, but was too chicken-shit to ask.

"Came a second later. God, Sam, couldn't get you out of my head. And Jesus, you've been such a little tease ever since."

As if to punish Sam, Dean moves his arms and grips Sam's hips so hard he can practically feel the bruises forming. Dean is drunk, and terrifying, and so right.

Until now, he didn't realize what he had been doing since then. Not consciously, anyways. Leaving the door open when he showered. Running around inside shirtless. Wrestling with his brother every chance he got. He had been trying to get Dean to want _him._

Apparently it worked.

That didn't make the current situation any less uncomfortable or frightening. Sam isn't ready for this, hasn't really known what's been going on like Dean. He's scared and turned on and his head is spinning.

"You want this," Dean keeps insisting, and he brings his groin flush with Sam's, causing him to moan, "you want this as much as me. Admit it. Admit it!"

Dean shoves down his boxers and has his hand on Sam's dick in one move. Everything stops, and Sam is astonished to hear himself whimper. His brother's palm is so hot, so rough, and there's nothing to soften the brutal pull of Dean's hand.

"See? You want this. You can't lie to me now, Sammy," and Dean's voice is so damn triumphant. Sam wants to wipe the smirk outta his tone, but he's too busy making these weak sounds and he can't seem to stop. Everywhere Dean is touching him is fire.

But Dean is also drunk, and this is _wrong, _and _oh shit_ what if Dad finally comes back early for once?

"C'mon, Sam, so damned beautiful. Make you feel so damned _good_," Dean croons, and soon pre-cum is slicking between his dick and Dean's hand. The wet sound it makes turns on Sam even more, and he wonders exactly how fucked up he is.

They've already entered into dangerous territory, hell, they probably crossed the line when Sam allowed his brother to turn and lock the door.

What had he been thinking? Or hoping?

"Sam, you're mine, you know that? You can't ever belong to anyone else."

And just like that Sam is coming, Dean's hand still dutifully working him.

He lays back, exhausted, completely stunned by what has just happened.

Then Dean leans forward and kisses him, and he thinks something like a second orgasm takes him. It's wet and sloppy and Dean is drunk, but it still leaves Sam breathless.

Dean is curling around Sam, the hand still damp with cum trailing under his shirt to caress Sam's abs. The muscles there tremble, and Sam thinks he might be warming up again, but he's too drained to do anything.

"Dean," he starts, and has to swallow because his voice is so dry, "what? I mean -"

Dean cuts him off with another kiss and lays his head on Sam's shoulder.

"Shut up and go to sleep, bitch."

He passes out moments later – well before four o'clock, Sam thinks wryly – and it takes Sam much longer to finally drift off.

In the morning Dean isn't there anymore, of course. In fact, he avoids Sam like the plague for a long time after. They never talk about it, and Dean never gets drunk around him again.

Of course, Sam bombs the SATs.


End file.
